their
conversation continue on such sentimental lines.

"She was killed in the retreat when the Germans conquered this part of
France at the outbreak of the war. I had gone to the front to join my
regiment, so Yvonne and my mother were alone except for my little
brother and a few women servants. Our chateau was destroyed."

The French officer paused because Sally was looking at him with a
curious expression as if an idea which she may have had in her mind for
some time was now slowly crystalizing into a fact.

"Your sister's name was Yvonne Fleury and your chateau was not far from
here, was it not?" Sally demanded.

The young officer nodded. He did not care to discuss his past history
with Sally or with any one else in the world. There was nothing to be
gained by recalling the inevitable tragedies of the war.

Sally did not appear seriously distressed. Unless she happened to be an
actual witness to suffering it did not touch her deeply. Besides, at the
present time she was smiling oddly, as if she were pleased and
displeased at the same time.

"I don't think that you need adopt me as your sister," she remarked.

Until this moment they had both continued standing.

Now Sally made a little motion toward the invalid's chair which Miss
Patricia had removed from their sitting-room to bestow upon her patient.

"Suppose we both sit down," she suggested, taking the only other chair
at the same instant.

"There is something else I wish to talk to you about if you feel you are
strong enough to hear. It may prove to be good news. I suppose it seems
a strange coincidence, although some people would call it an act of
Providence, but I am sure I don't understand such things. It is just
barely possible your sister Yvonne Fleury was not killed. When we were
crossing to France from the United States we met a girl on shipboard
named Yvonne Fleury, whose home, the Chateau Yvonne, had been destroyed
in the early part of the war. As she believed her brother had been
killed at the front, she had gone to New York City, where she had been
living with some friends for several years. She told the entire family
tragedy to our chaperon, Mrs. Burton, who afterwards told the story to
us, hoping we might be especially kind to Yvonne because of her
unhappiness. The other girls have been, but Yvonne and I do not like
each other and she has been very disagreeable to me. Still, if she turns
out to be your sister, it does not matter. Under the